Flipping through my family album, I learned that photographs conceal knowledge. I found a small image of great grandmother wearing a white cotton dress,two tightly pleated braids hung over her darkened collarbone, her gaze rendered indecipherable by the slight movement of her head. This photograph is a partial trace--an incomplete register--of a heritage bequeathed to me through songs and domestic rituals. My grandmother Manuela called this incompleteness watered down atol; alluding to the food diluted to feed a child but unable to sustain a larger family.
I am driven by an impulse to replenish this hunger; to heal this wound present in a cultural narrative that has bled its inheritance into the soil of the Honduran landscape. In my work, I reconfigure photography, writing, filmmaking into a constellation, where each cluster of work illuminates different material histories within my home country. The photograph as a continuously expanding document, mirrors the process of translation through the recording of light onto a surface. Materials are physically moved, culturally relocated, transformed outside of their function as vessels and gourds into an image making apparatus. This engagement through translation becomes the building blocks for the construction of a personal cosmology, a portable home that I carry within me wherever I go.
Through investigations of ancient texts and accounts of archaeological findings, I search for moments of rupture within history from where I can build a bridge. Oftentimes the work will ask for something from me; like the movement of a material across a geographic and cultural border, or a that I enact a performative gesture with a camera that I have built myself. I find myself seeking the elusive remains of my homeland, the tendrils of knowledge that inhabit the stories of my migrant mothers.